


Stung

by gtgrandom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Season 1-4, Slow Burn, canonverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gtgrandom/pseuds/gtgrandom
Summary: She needed an escape. She needed to distance herself. The best way to do that, of course, was to pick a fight with Bellamy. (The scenes between scenes).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I'm transferring over! Enjoy!

…At last, unable to endure,

To _Venus_ runs, and begs a Cure,

Complaining that so slight a Touch,

And little Thing, should wound so much.

She smil'd, and said, how like to thee,

My _Son_ , is that unlucky bee?

Thy self art small, and yet thy Dart

Wounds deep, ah! very deep the Heart.

-Dürer

*****

"It's Bellamy."

Clarke was shocked to realize how much of an effect those two words had on her. Bellamy. Something had happened to _Bellamy_. She whirled around, chest tight.

"What happened?"

Octavia was scared—Clarke could see it in her eyes. The Blake siblings had an astounding and furiously irritating ability to mask their fear. The exception, she supposed, lay in the fear that blossomed for each other. Put one sibling's life on the line, and the mask would splinter right down the front and shatter into jagged pieces.

Clarke almost wished she had someone who could shatter her walls that way. Someone to love so wholeheartedly. It hadn't taken her long to realize that unlike Bellamy, she needed to keep her face of stone intact, to preserve her power. She couldn't risk emotion anymore. 

"I don't know…he's just…" Octavia breathed, closing her eyes. "You've got to help him, Clarke."

The desperation rocked the world beneath the young blonde's feet. It was serious.

"Where is he?" she tried to keep the tension out of her voice.

Octavia had already grabbed Clarke's wrist and started dragging her towards the med bay. Clarke's eyes zeroed in on the hunched figure leaning against Jasper.

Bellamy.

He was having trouble breathing, and his eyes were fluttering like they were too heavy. They found hers, and he squinted up at her. "Clarke…" He tried to swallow and failed. _It's bad_ , he told her with those big brown irises. _Help me_.

Clarke's worry kicked in, and the adrenaline set her back into a familiar zone of medical jargon and procedures. She could do this. She just had to remain unattached.

"Set him down quickly," she advised. Jasper and Octavia hauled the older boy onto the same table as her previous operations.

"Bellamy can you speak?"

He rolled his eyes between fits of wheezing. He didn't answer. Was his throat swollen?

She checked his pulse, stunned by the rapid thrum beneath her fingertips. "Someone explain."

"We got ambushed by these giant bees," Jasper said, expanding his arms wide. "Bellamy got the worst of it…after…you know, smashing the nest."

"You were stung?" she clarified. Idiot. Of course he'd gone and destroyed a hornet's nest. He could be such a child sometimes.

Bellamy crammed his eyes shut and lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach. There were six large, swollen lumps, surrounded by red freckles.

Hives.

Without a second's pause, Clarke yanked his shirt up over his head. She pushed Bellamy back against the table to lie flat, lifting his chin so he could breathe properly. He groaned but didn't protest. He was trembling.

"Bellamy," she said nervously, her hands resting on his abdomen. She deftly extracted the stingers, but that would only do so much. "Bellamy you've been stung and you're having an allergic reaction. I think…I think it's anaphylaxis."

He made a face. _Speak English._

"It's not good," she told him seriously.

He convulsed again, grabbing her arm like a plea for it to stop. She flinched, then she slid her arm of the death-grip and held his hand instead. "Hold on for me, okay?" His fingers were tight around hers, and she chewed her lip, thinking.

She didn't know how to handle this. Allergies weren't common on the Ark. If they were severe, children were always equipped with an EpiPen. Only, she had no epinephrine among the supplies they were given. No one had ever considered bee stings—least of all, radioactive bee stings.

Octavia and Jasper were staring at her, surprised she hadn't moved or barked any orders.

"Is he going to be alright? Tell me if he has a chance, Clarke," demanded Octavia.

Clarke glanced down at Bellamy, his ragged breathing. His throat was closing up. He was going to suffocate.

"I need you to find Lincoln."

Bellamy lurched at that, but she kept him grounded to the table, one hand against his cool and clammy chest, the other still folded in his hand.

"Bellamy, it's the only way to save your life. Lincoln might have the drug we need. There's…there's nothing I can do here without medicine."

Bellamy's jaw tightened, and a muscle rippled in his temple. He glared at Clarke, then at his sister.

"No."

It was weak, but still authoritative.

"How long does he have?" Octavia whispered, ignoring her brother, her idiosyncrasy.

Clarke closed her eyes. On the Ark? He'd be fine after a few hours of treatment. Here? Here...

"Half an hour, at most," she whispered.

Octavia was gone in a heartbeat.

Clarke nodded at Jasper. "Go with her. Bring her back."

Jasper obliged, disappearing with an anxious expression.

She turned to Bellamy, and he glowered.

Clarke disregarded the heat in his eyes. She just pushed him back down, focused on the bee stings. "Stop moving. You need to lie still. And whatever the hell you do, don't panic."

He scoffed.

*****

 

She busied herself with adjusting his body to make him more comfortable, elevating his legs, wiping back his sweaty curls from his forehead, mainly because there was nothing else she _could_ do.

She tried to be strong for him, but she couldn't bury her concern. They had nothing to combat this kind of reaction. Worst of all, she doubted the grounders had medicine advanced enough to treat shock. His blood pressure was decreasing, his airways were closing; he was dying.

_Bellamy_ , invincible, jerkwad Bellamy, was dying.

If he died on her, she wouldn't be able to run things by herself. Her decisions were only recognized by a majority of the camp because they were recognized by Bellamy. She was still on the top of the hierarchy in their eyes, their _Princess_ , and although they respected her decisions and her leadership, they didn't want it. She wasn't one of them. She was Bellamy's adviser, his doctor, not his right hand, not his partner. If he died, the likes of Murphy would rise up, reinstate the doctrine 'do whatever the hell we want,' and order would disintegrate. She wouldn't be able to protect them anymore.

And, she thought selfishly, no one would be able to protect _her_.

Dammit.

She really did need him. He'd become something like a friend. She was dependent on his strength and the burden they shared. Bellamy...Bellamy was, in the oddest sense, her rock.

Her annoying, obstinate boulder.

She glanced down at him again, and he was watching her, like he could read her thought process. He clenched his jaw, fighting the tremor and the pain. "Take…take care of O…"

"Bellamy," she said, heartbroken at his understanding.

She wanted to berate him for having no faith in her, but she merely nodded, aching for whatever reason. She'd never felt so hopeless, useless. A tear slid down her cheek, and Bellamy's face softened.

"How am I going to do this without you, asshat?" she murmured, wiping it away.

His breathing slowed, strained. He fumbled for her hand again, and she delivered. He pulled their linked hands to rest on his heaving chest, and he closed his eyes.

"May we meet again," he whispered, voice catching on the old phrase, and his breath became shallow.

Clarke squeezed his hand. "Bellamy?"

Her fingers slid to his wrist, and she couldn't find his pulse.

 

*****

"Bellamy?" she repeated.

She didn't believe it. She _wouldn't_ believe it.

She checked his pulse again, and she didn't even notice the tears raining down her face.

Octavia and Jasper were on their way back by now. He'd held out for forty-five minutes of fatal anaphylaxis. He couldn't have held out five more?

She frowned suddenly, the lump in her throat expanding. Bellamy Blake didn't just give up. There was only one way he'd let the devil win:

He'd surrendered.

She knew how much self-loathing existed inside him, but she'd never thought he'd give in to his pain. Hadn't she told him he wasn't alone? He wasn't the only one with demons! He wasn't the only one hurting! Feeling guilty!

How could he just…ditch her?

She performed chest compressions with renewed anger.

Out of her peripheral she saw Finn and Miller enter the tent, but she didn't mind them. She pumped Bellamy's chest fiercely, crying stupidly. Something so small couldn't have killed the infamous Bellamy Blake. A bee wasn't his Achilles heel. Octavia was.

This _shouldn't_ have happened.

Someone's hands covered hers, and she looked up. Finn. She was about to yell at him to _get out of her fucking way_ , but then she realized he was taking over. He was stronger. Heavier.

She blinked at him, and they shared a silent understanding as she moved aside. At the proper count, she dipped her head and breathed into Bellamy's parted mouth. 20. 21. 22.

Through the rush of blood in Clarke's ears, she heard a shriek, and Octavia was suddenly at her side, gripping a green bottle with white knuckles, petrified at the site of her brother's unmoving chest.

Clarke didn't ask. She snatched the bottle out of the girl's hands, sniffing its contents. Moving at a godly speed, she found the only syringe in the med bay and professionally jammed it in Bellamy's thigh.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but she hadn't anticipated her dead patient to gasp and arch upwards on the table like he'd been electrocuted.

Clarke hurried to Bellamy's side, pushing Finn away, and she waited, eyes glued to the man she both despised and respected.

After what felt like a lifetime, he inhaled softly, his eyes twitching. She almost collapsed in relief and absurd happiness.

Luckily, Octavia was there to catch her before she really did faint. The two girls embraced, shell-shocked, gazes rooted to Bellamy's unconscious figure.

*****

"Clarke…" Octavia said suggestively

"I can't leave. I have to stay in case he has another reaction or something. We don't even know what I injected him with." That fact bothered Clarke immensely. She'd been so caught up in the moment, she hadn't stopped to think. And she always stopped to think. That's what separated her from Bellamy.

What if she'd overdosed? What if she'd injected him in the wrong location? She'd been so…impulsive. Reckless. And yet, she wasn't sorry, not when she could hear Bellamy breathing softly, or monitor the rise and fall of his chest. Not when she could detect movement in places she'd feared would never move again.

Octavia rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Doc, I'm getting some sleep." She turned to leave, but then she paused, back straightening. "And…thank you, Clarke."

"Don't thank me yet."

Octavia turned, shaking her head. "Seriously. You saved his life."

" _We_ saved his life."

Octavia grinned. Her eyes flitted back to her brother, and she smiled slightly. "I'm never gonna let him forget this."

"Never," Clarke agreed, matching the mischief in the younger girl's eyes. 

Octavia snickered, disappearing under the flap of the tent, and Clarke was left alone with Bellamy.

She took his hand again—she liked the security it gave her, even when it was limp.

After Bellamy had died, something in her snapped. She had been angry at him for ditching her. Then horrified. Then desperate. The emotions were still churning, and she felt exhausted. She refused to sleep in case Bellamy needed her, but maybe she could just shut her eyes…

The twitch in her hand brought her back. Bellamy was peering at his surroundings, then at her, attempting to string together his fragmented memories.

"Octavia?" he wondered.

"She's fine," Clarke assured him, laughing at his immediate brotherly devotion. "Are you?"

He sat up on his elbows with difficulty. "Lousy."

Clarke watched him, trying to keep her emotions out of her expression, but probably failing.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Princess?"

She didn't answer. She just kept staring. Unable to tear her eyes away.

"Clarke?" he tried, softer, unsure.

That did it.

Slowly, cautiously, she drew him into a hug, managing to kill her sob and save herself from pure mortification. "You idiot."

Bellamy was taken aback by her affection, but eventually, one of his warm arms circled her waist. He gave a few dainty, confused taps, and she laughed, retracting herself before things got weird.

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow at her, but he didn't ask. He probably had a good idea about what had occurred. And maybe she was reading too much into his expression, but he looked grateful. Sincere.

When another tear fell from Clarke's eyes, Bellamy smiled. "That for me, Princess?"

"No. You just stink. It's making my eyes water."

He chuckled in that Blake fashion, head bent, eyes crinkled. Clarke never thought she'd see him making that face when it wasn't at her expense in some way. He looked so much better when he was genuinely happy.

"Do me a favor, though, Bellamy."

He looked up at her, under his bangs. _Anything_.

"Don't ever die on me again."

His mouth twitched, and then he shook his head. "Sorry, but I don't do favors, Clarke," he said. She crossed her arms. "I can compromise though."

She turned so he couldn't see her smile. Call her crazy, but she loved their banter. It was comforting in an annoying way. Home territory. "So what's your request? Eradication of bee hives within the perimeter?"

He waited to answer until she glanced back in his direction, driven by gravity.

"You don't get to die either," he said sternly, but with sanded corners.

He held out his hand, and after a lengthy pause, she shook it.

His hand lingered, and his palm was warm and calloused. "Deal, Princess?"

She met his gaze, unwavering.

"Deal."


	2. Stay

Bellamy was exhausted. Patrol this late—he couldn't do it. Not efficiently. Not on top of everything else.

"Bellamy…"

He froze. He imagined it. Right? That wasn't his name. That wasn't Clarke's voice.

"Bellamy!"

It was a shriek this time, and he didn't hesitate. He burst into her tent, prepared to gun down an attacker or beat Murphy into Kingdom Come.

But there was no Grounder. No insane criminal. She was alone, crying. _Sleeping_.

Bellamy stood there dumbfounded, brows knit together. Clarke's hairline held beads of sweat, streaks of tears. The fur blanket he'd gotten her was bundled to the side, like she'd thrashed to get it away from her.

She was having a nightmare.

She breathed rapidly, frightened by something in the dark spaces of her mind. And she was calling his name.

Bellamy swallowed, realizing with a terrible ache in his gut just what this meant.

She was terrified of him. Clarke, the one person besides Octavia he was sure didn't see him as a threat, was so terrified of him and what he was capable of that the mere idea of him haunted her in her sleep.

He started to back away, knowing he had no place here. He felt sick.

"Don't go," she whimpered.

He paused, stricken by the desperation there. Shit, what now?

He turned back to her, preparing an excuse as to why he was in her tent in the middle of the night, standing over her like a creep. He tried to think of a line that would embarrass her more than the mortification in his own stomach.

But she was still asleep.

What the fuck?

"Stay...please..." she sniffed, hand curling around her blanket. 

He tried to swallow again, but this time there was a knot in his throat that blocked all the air from his lungs.

He closed his eyes, breathing out like he was annoyed, even though he wasn't. He wasn't sure what he was. Relieved? Embarrassed? Elated by the fact she was dreaming about him, begging him not to leave her?

He didn't know what they were to each other. She had become his friend, he supposed. She was his partner, without a doubt. He consulted her about everything, because she saw things differently. Untainted.

Octavia joked that he and Clarke were the parents of the delinquents. The brat let the comment slip, and now Monty and Jasper kept referring to them as Mom and Dad. But Bellamy believed they were more like their illegal guardians. Protectors. Bearing the responsibility. Bearing it together.

She told him she needed him that day, and everything had changed. Somehow, someone saw the person he could be beneath the layers, the person he wanted to be. She gave him hope. And he sure as hell wouldn't abandon hope.

Tentative, he took a step forward, pausing twice, until he finally crouched down beside her, smoothing the blond fly-aways back from her face, waiting for the fear to fade from her expression.

"I'm not going anywhere, Princess."


	3. Good Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After they returned from Finn's massacre...

Clarke knew he knew.

She was being obvious.

But she couldn't help it. She'd thought he'd been dead, thought she'd been responsible for his death, and now…now she couldn't feel that loneliness again.

And he knew it.

But he didn't say anything. He didn't bring up the fact that she was glued to his side the moment she'd practically thrown herself into his arms. He didn't acknowledge the fact that she kept her eyes on him even when she wasn't looking, too afraid that he might disappear on her. He didn't even tease her about the touching—the sudden casualness of her shoulder brushing his, or her hand grazing his elbow.

But he understood. Because he was looking at her with the same expression. A mirror. A plea.

A plea to remember the deal they had made.

It wasn't until everyone had drifted off to their bunks that she knew she had to depart. She had to make it through the night without him, and pray that when she woke up, she wasn't back at Mount Weather, alone.

Bellamy sensed her unease, and he leaned in closer to her, face lit from the breath of the campfire.

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, and they melted into each other, safe, okay. For a little while. His warmth seeped into her skin, and she relished the heat. Bellamy was so much like the sun. He had his own source of fire. His own glaring brightness. And he had this characteristic...attraction. Or at least, Clarke found herself gravitating toward him most hours of the day, seeking whatever it was he possessed that made her feel at home.

"I wish we could just…stay here. Grow old. Forget about the Grounders and the war," she said.

"It's not a distant future, Clarke."

She glanced at him, sideways, and he met her gaze. Tousles of brown fell into those deep, seeing eyes, and she never noticed how soft they were. Hard, but soft at the center, warm at the center.

"That's a goddamn lie and you know it," she deadpanned, and he laughed, deep and easy, arm pulling her closer.

"It's a good lie, though."

"Yeah."

They sat together, thinking. What would their future hold for them? Would she and Bellamy make it out alive? Would the delinquents?  Finn?

Clarke tried to imagine a day of peace, of _living,_ not survival.

She pictured her friends, happy again, smiling again. Raven would be healed. Octavia with Lincoln. Her mother delivering the first children on Earth.

Clarke would be...well, she would be okay. Because she would have Bellamy beside her. Because he promised.

When they finally did say goodnight, Clarke fell into her cot, breathing in the smoke on her shirt and the warm citrus of Bellamy.  Despite everything, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 


	4. Princess

Bellamy was very influential. He could be persuasive. He could control people. Lead people. And the people who didn't want to follow him, he intimidated.

But he couldn't _fucking_ control Clarke Griffin.

She didn't take any shit from anyone, least of all him, and he wasn't going to lie.

He was offended.

What made her so stubborn? So immune to him? He admitted to owning a gun, and she rolled her eyes at him! He threatened to take off her wrist band, and she didn't even flinch.

It was like she saw through everything, like he was made of cellophane and she could detect every lie and facade and cowering thought.

That was it, he supposed. She was braver than him. Much, much braver. And she knew it.

So he punished her for it.

At first it was easy. Undermine her logic about the wrist bans? Check. Instill a hierarchy in which the privileged sat at the bottom for once? Check. He could direct all his self-loathing, his resentment, his insecurities, at _her_. And she would bite back. Easy.

But then she helped him. She helped him end Atom's life. She took the knife. She took the burden.

Suddenly this Princess who thought she was better than the rest of them, who acted all morally superior (and admittedly _was_ ), stunned him with her nerve. The person he thought was goody-two-shoes showed her colors. She ended a life that needed ending. She did what he couldn't, but complete with all her tenderness and affection. And she was no longer Princess.

She was Clarke.

"We need to take his body back," she said, after however long it had been since they'd been kneeling there, watching Atom's light fade.

Bellamy couldn't answer. He was responsible for this death. He'd heard the screams, he'd heard his name being called in the form of a desperate plea. And he'd taken one look at the acid fog and ducked inside the cave.

Because _that_ was who he was.

"Bellamy?"

Clarke had moved to his side. She reached out to touch his hand, but she hesitated and settled on his forearm. She was peering at him, peering through him, and he hated it.

"I'll get the others to help us carry him…" he said, but it came out too soft.

"Hey," she said, squeezing his arm. He finally glanced at her, and her eyes were soft. They were soft but adamant. Eyes that had seen blood and spilled blood. "It's over. He's in a better place."

He would have scoffed if he wasn't shell-shocked. "Do you really believe that?"

He wasn't just mocking her. He really needed to know. Because if she believed, then maybe he could too.

She frowned, and a flicker of doubt and overwhelming sadness crossed her face. "I have to."


	5. Let's Drink

Clarke thought Bellamy's only weakness was Octavia.

Then Charlotte happened, and she realized he had a soft spot for kids.

Clarke was stunned by the pure, honest look in his eyes when he told Charlotte he wouldn't leave her. There was a side she'd only ever seen him display toward his sister. Even after the murder, he'd still seen what was innocent, what was young and fragile and broken.

But it didn't end with Charlotte's death.

Jules, the second youngest after Charlotte, became Bellamy's new shadow. He shared his rations with her. He made sure Miller or one of his more trusted followers was with her every time she left camp. Bellamy had taken a few younger boys under his wing as well. He taught them to hunt. To defend themselves.

Clarke hated the warm feeling it gave her.

Bellamy was an ass. He needed to stay that way before she became sentimental.

*****

It was the night she'd saved Finn's life. The night she told her mother that she knew what she'd done.

Overall, too emotional for Clarke's taste.

She needed an escape. She needed to distract herself. The best way to do that, of course, was to pick a fight with Bellamy.

She stomped her way over to his tent, praying for the absence of his harem. She really couldn't deal with that right now.

"Bellamy—"

She was met with a stern finger to be quiet. Then a nod to the bundle of blankets on the bed.

For a second, Clarke wanted to punch him. _Seriously_? Tonight? He was incorrigible.

But then she peered closer, and she realized it was Jules, not a half-naked woman. The girl was wrapped up tightly in furs, tear streaks washing dirt from her cheeks. Clarke turned back to Bellamy, who sat in the corner of his tent, drinking from a flask like this was perfectly normal.

She raised an eyebrow as she took a seat across from him.

"Apparently, I tell good stories. Now every time she has a nightmare, she barges in here and demands me to tell her one." He sounded annoyed, but Clarke had a feeling he was anything but.

"Funny. I'm here for the same reason," she said.

He smiled that closed-lip smile, where the corner of his mouth twists upward. "Why _are_ you here, Princess?"

She wanted to say that she had an idea for their winter preparation—one she was sure he would disagree with, one that he would get all riled up about.

But tonight he was calm, and there was this light in his eyes when he looked over at Jules.

It was rare; she didn't want to put it out.

"I don't…" she paused, eyebrows knit together. She couldn't talk to Finn about it, for multiple reasons. She couldn't confide in Wells because he was dead. Raven and Octavia were on opposite ends of the spectrum regarding Abby. Bellamy was it.

"My mother had my father floated."

Bellamy was silent for a good measure of time. The only response, an angry ripple in his jaw. Finally, he handed the alcohol over, and she took a shaky swig.

"I blamed Wells for it. I hated him. And all this time…she was the one. She betrayed us," her voice caught in her throat like it did right before she was about to cry, and the two of them tensed, unprepared for her breakdown.

_Shit. No, don't do it. You won't be able to stop if the floodgates open._

She managed to hold it in. Just a little while longer.

Bellamy looked down, stealing the flask back. "There was this masquerade dance..."

Clarke chuckled mirthlessly. "Is this the beginning of one of your bedtime stories?"

He glared at her, and her smile faded. _No. This was real. And he was sharing._ "On the Ark," she recalled, urging him to continue. "The junior dance."

"It was a chance for her to leave the room. I just wanted her to be happy. So I took her out. I risked _everything_ ," he said. He must have meant Octavia. She was the only person he spoke of with such reverence. "I made a mistake, Clarke, and I got my mother killed."

She breathed in sharply.

Clarke knew their story. It was the famous tale of the Blake siblings—the daughter hidden beneath the floor. But hearing it from him, even as brief and vague as it was...it broke her heart.

"Clarke...your mother made a mistake too. I know she doesn't deserve your forgiveness, but..." he rolled his eyes. "You're the one who believes in that second chance shit. If anyone deserves a second chance, it's the person who loves you most."

She bit her lip. She hadn't expected advice from Bellamy. She thought he would say nothing or something hurtful. She'd been counting on it.

They both reached for the flask at the same time, hands brushing in competition. "You have the last of it. You need it," he conceded, retracting.

She shook her head, capping it. "Let's save it for another day."

Bellamy stared at her, surprised, and she gave him a small, reserved smile.

"Another day," he agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always craved Clarke's reaction to the hanging scene. That was one of Bell's first selfless actions, and she never got to witness it.

The Grounders were coming.

They needed to prepare. They needed to blast off. But instead of coordinating their defenses, Clarke kept finding herself distracted by Bellamy. Specifically, by the raw marks on his neck.

After Finn and Raven departed the dropship, she approached him, eyes widening. "Bellamy, what exactly happened with Murphy?"

She had been so caught up in the evacuation and the attack that she hadn't noticed the red lacerations along his skin—shallow, irritated indentations. They extended all around his neck in a circle, a _ring_.

Bellamy didn't reply. She glared at him, and gave her a look that said, _you know what happened._

She reached out, unthinking, and her fingers brushed the wound at his throat. For a moment, Bellamy didn't breathe. He just watched her with a nervous tension.

Clarke felt this unwarranted impulse to cry.

"How did you wind up alone with Murphy?" she asked softly. Her other hand rose, tentative, and she turned his head gently to get a better look.

He blinked once, slowly. "I traded with Jasper."

She knew her expression betrayed her.

"Don't look so surprised, Princess."

"I'm not," she countered, smiling slightly. His actions only affirmed her beliefs about his character. That underneath the hard, prickly scar tissue there was flesh. There was humanity. "I'm…proud of you. And grateful. And kind of angry."

He cocked an eyebrow and removed her hands, stealing away the heat. "Angry?"

"You knew he was going to kill you. You knew what you were walking into. And you went anyway," she muttered. _And you broke our promise_.

Bellamy shrugged without shrugging. "I did what needed to be done."

"I know."

She was glad she had been oblivious. She might have done something extremely stupid had she known Bellamy was in the clutches of Murphy, unarmed.

His gaze flickered between her eyes and her face in its entirety, and then he nodded, amused, and he started to walk away.

"Bell," she said, the nickname unfamiliar on her tongue yet somehow fitting. She gave him a pointed look. "Your ass better be on this dropship when we close that door."

He paused just long enough to send her a toothy grin. "My ass follows your ass, Clarke."

It wasn't really that funny, but it made her laugh all the same. An incredulous kind of laugh, like she couldn't believe she could actually find anything humorous after everything they'd been through. Like she couldn't believe Bellamy Blake could whisk away her fear and plant a smile on her face.

He left then, his gun in hand, and she didn't realize how long it would be until she laughed again.


	7. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the episode with Psycho Finn.

"What the hell are you doing, Clarke?" he whispered.

She'd dragged her blanket over six feet, pulling up right next to him.

"I don't…" she bit her lip, then nodded at Finn's sleeping figure to the left of them. "I…"

He followed her line of vision and caught on.

"It's fine," he muttered, just to save her from trying to explain her distrust in Finn.

He felt for the guy. At the beginning, he couldn't stand the Grounder-loving kiss-ass. But then…then he grew to know Finn, and they bonded over their desperation to find Clarke.

To find their _friends_.

But whatever light had been there had flickered out the day the Grounders attacked. He was no longer Finn. He was…something else, and something Bellamy feared would become a reflection.

She grinned appreciatively and swiped the dirt off her blanket. He tried not to watch her, the way her hair fell in her face, the hidden sorrow.

But everything about this girl was a tragic story. And he loved tragic history.

Clarke lay facing him, which he found both comforting and unsettling. He could keep an eye on her. But she could also watch him sleep. Like she was right now.

_Fuck that_.

"Can you not…stare at me?" he said, wishing he could hang himself after the words left his mouth. _Way to sound like a little bitch, Bell._

Clarke blinked at him, taken off guard by the request, and then she chuckled. "If I close my eyes, will you still be there?"

It was supposed to be a joke, but the fear in her voice struck a chord, and they both frowned.

She didn't know who to turn to now. Finn had been the one she could confide in about personal…stuff. Bellamy was the guy she chose for kicking ass. Which was fine with him. That was how it should be.

Only now Clarke couldn't trust Finn. She didn't know him anymore. And she couldn't blatantly tell Bellamy how she felt, because they didn't work like that. They were each other's _escape_ from emotion. And he wanted to keep it that way.

"I'll be here," he promised. There was no bite. No teasing.

She made a face like she didn't believe him.

"What, do you want to hold my hand?"

"No."

"Then go the fuck to sleep, Clarke."

She smiled at him, her wounded, Earth smile. It stopped his heart, for a split second, and he swallowed.

She was supposed to be his escape from emotion. The stopper in his rage and his grief.

So why did she make him feel everything tenfold?

*****

When he woke up, Clarke had rolled onto his blanket, tucked beside him, but not touching. Close, but not close enough. Only her hair grazed his cheek, his chest. And he had to restrain himself from leaning in close and nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck. Kissing her there at the nape. Restraint was key.

Murphy muttered something under his breath about Bellamy being 'fucking ridiculous', and Bellamy decided he better remove himself before Finn saw them together and put a bullet in his head.

But as soon as he shifted, the body heat radiating from Clarke disappeared, and he decided he could stay a little while longer.

*****

He would never get over the satisfaction of seeing Clarke wake up his pad, her confused lower lip jutting out. She threw him an embarrassed glance and blushed.

But he didn't bite. And he didn't tease.


	8. Monster

After agreeing to leave for the village with Finn's body, Clarke sauntered back to camp.

Raven screamed at her, voice hoarse, heart shattered, and Clarke could barely stand by the time she made it to her room. She gathered her things for the trip, which wasn't much, really. She just needed something to distract her shaking hands.

"Clarke."

Bellamy stood behind her, but she didn't turn around. How could she? Bellamy was the only person she had left. She refused to see him look at her like a stranger.

"I need you to come with me," she said, her tongue on fire. "We have to take Finn's body to Tondisi for the Grounders' death ritual. That should solidify the alliance."

" _Clarke_."

"And then we can get our people out of Mount Weather. We have to hurry, and Bellamy, we'll need guns—"

A hand snatched hers, so warm and calloused, so Bellamy. She finally glanced at him, and she wasn't prepared for the concern and sympathy in his gaze. It was an expression that told her she was not putting up a front. She couldn't fool anyone. Least of all him.

"That can wait," he said sternly, gaze burning. "You need to stop and breathe for a second."

She started to shake her head, but he squeezed her trembling hand, and she took a deep, unsteady breath. "I killed him," she said slowly. "I killed _Finn_ , Bellamy."

**_I'm_ ** _the monster._

Finn was her first love. He had broken her heart. And just when she thought she'd mended it, he'd died. She'd murdered him. She'd done it for her people, but in doing so, she may have pushed everyone she loved away. Permanently.

Bellamy didn't respond. They just stood there in the faint glow of the torches, seeking answers, seeking forgiveness. They were both so broken, Clarke realized. How many times could a person break before there was nothing left but dust?

Bellamy's thumb caressed the space below her knuckles.

"It had to be done," he whispered.

Clarke's eyes snapped to his, and the ever-present tears slid down over her cheeks. He gave her a small nod, a gesture that somehow brought her back, that told her she wasn't alone, wasn't lost, and then he bent down and kissed the top of her head, lingering.

She let out a high pitched sound, a restrained sob, and tucked her face into his chest.

She felt his chin on the crown of her head. The warmth of his hand on her back.

Clarke wanted to go back in time and wish on the flares. She would have wished for this moment to last forever.

A forever in Bellamy's arms, where she was safe.

_Where she was loved_.


	9. Eye Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene that tore my heart out, among many others of course.

"Calm down!"

Clarke struggled against his arms, against the words that had brought her so much pain.

"Let me go!"

"Clarke."

She finally surrendered, and Bellamy held her at arm's length, glaring at her. Tears trickled over her cheeks, and she wanted to unbuckle. But she couldn't. Not when everyone around her was just as damaged. She had to prove to them that she was still fighting. Fighting for _them_.

Her eyes sought his. Their forgiveness. The loyalty there. She needed to know he still had her back. Even though her back had been turned on him and everything.

"Come on."

Bellamy pulled her to the kitchen. After his gruff, rather impolite request, Niylah brought him a pot full of lukewarm water.

Clarke watched, numbly, as he dipped the rag into the water and rung it out, before gently rubbing the blood and saliva away from the bite mark.

_S_ he had not anticipated seeing him here. Helping. _Changed_.

She wasn't surprised he'd come around. She'd believed in him to do the right thing all along. Because that's who he was.

No, not surprised. Just…unprepared.

The trust between them had been shattered. And then mended and shattered again. That left them amidst a landfill full of broken shards. Repairing this, _them_ —she wasn't sure where to begin.

Bellamy didn't say anything. She watched his brown, earth-colored eyes roam over her wound, begging them to rise and greet hers.

She could read his gaze like the page of a book. It's how they communicated best. Easiest. But he wouldn't give it to her.

He was still tentative, even if his actions said otherwise. Even though they'd quickly fallen back into their old, co-leadership roles, he was wary.

She had lost the one person she thought she never could.

Her eyes watered again, and a tear landed on his hand, running down his thumb. This time he did look up, and a mixture of concern and doubt and feigned indifference surfaced.

She swallowed, lip trembling. "Bellamy…I…"

He shook his head, silencing her.

It wasn't a hateful silence, though.

It expressed what she had told him back then. That they could get through this.

No words were needed. Just as no apologies were needed.

_It's okay_ , his gaze said. _It's in the past._

She nodded slightly, breathing out shakily. _In the past._

His hand tightened around her forearm, grip warm and gentle. _From now on, we stick together._

She nodded again.

His eyes flickered to her wrist and back up, eyebrows furrowed. _Also. Now what do I do?_

Clarke almost laughed. She retracted a slip of cloth from her belt loops and attempted to weave the bandage around her wrist. She could have managed it with one hand, but Bellamy rolled his eyes and stole the cloth out of her grip so he could tie it himself.

And she let him.


	10. Gina

Sinclair drove up front with Monty. The others were asleep. Or pretending.

Clarke's shoulder brushed against his every time they turned left, and Bellamy was glad for the reminder that she was here beside him.

She was home.

Part of him wanted to thread his fingers through her hair, hold her, breathe her in, just for a second. But things were still…mending between them. And his hand was still fucked up. It ached dully the entire trip, and he sort of debated cutting it off. He would spill less blood with one hand.

"Tell me about her," Clarke whispered.

He frowned. "Who?"

"Gina."

The name sent a painful jolt down his spine. He looked away, the heat rising up behind his eyes again, prickling the nerves. What gave her the right?

"Bellamy. Please? If she was important to you, she must have been someone worth remembering."

Clarke clutched his knee, and he closed his eyes, breathing out his nose. He didn't have to tell her anything.

"At least...tell me something she'd want to be remembered for."

Finally, he turned back to her. "Patience," he managed, voice dangerously low. "She was patient with everyone. Jasper. The Grounders….me."

"You?"

"Yeah. Because half the time when I should have been thinking about her, about us, I was thinking of a way to bring you back."

It came out a little more bitter than he intended. But it was true. He'd wasted a happy period with Gina thinking of a way to find the fire and heartache that was Clarke Griffin.

Clarke shut her mouth, blinking once, mind reeling for something to say. "Bellamy, you know what ALIE said isn't true, right? She was just—"

"I know exactly what she was doing Clarke. And she was right. Gina was…she was too good for me. I didn't deserve her. Didn't love her the way I could have, at another time, in another place." He looked down at his fractured hand. "The world could use more people like her. And less people like me."

Clarke _did_ object to that. "Don't."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taken aback by the fuming rage in those pools of blue.

"I know everyone hates us right now. But I don't hate you," she said sternly. "The world needs you. Your heart. Your courage. All of you. Okay?"

He hated it when she got all preachy like this. But he also loved her for it.

Because _that_ made perfect sense.

She dropped her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you lost her that day. I didn't know who she was to you. And it all…it makes a lot more sense."

"Doesn't excuse any of it. She would hate what I've become."

"But that's just it, Bell. You haven't _become_ anything. You always do what you think is best for our people. It began with Octavia, but then you started caring about all the 100. The Ark. Our families."

"You," he said.

She gave a watery smile. "Me."

She sat back, resting her head near his. It reminded him of a cold night, sitting against a tree trunk, discussing his fate. It was a fond memory, one he treasured. He'd made a friend that night. And, he realized now, he'd also fallen in love.

Clarke sighed. "You made mistakes. So did I. But I see the good in you. I've seen it all along. And Gina…she must have too."

"You see the good in everyone, Clarke."

She smiled, because he wasn't wrong, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the persistent contact of her shoulder.

Clarke was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean this didn't happen.


	11. Toxic

Clarke had always been pretty good at reading people. She supposed it came from that introverted half of her—the artist, not the doctor, the emotion, not the logic. But when she'd first met Bellamy, she'd read him wrong.

Arrogant. Selfish. Machiavellian.

But it didn't take her long to realize that the threats and the cruel remarks were all acts, bits and pieces of fear, scattered into unrecognizable fragments. Because she realized how much Octavia meant to him. How much _she_ meant to him. How much everything truly meant to this scarred, misguided man.

And suddenly, he was an open book.

An autobiography.

Because every time she looked at him, she saw some facet of herself. Anger. Pain. Judgement. Fear. Love. Remorse. He wore her heart, and they shared a brain.

So Clarke was very familiar with his motives and his reasoning. Because she knew him. She knew herself.

And when he had been separated from her, and she no longer recognized him, it terrified her, because she didn't know who she was anymore if Bellamy Blake had disintegrated.

She didn't have a reflection for a few weeks.

But she found it again.

*****

"Clarke," he said, drawing her away from the locked gate.

She hissed against the pain in her fists from banging against the steel. Begging for a way to save Luna.

Bellamy turned her around, and took her bleeding hands in his. She grabbed hold instinctively, too tight.

The fear was palpable on his face, but it reassured her. Because she wasn't the only one afraid. She wasn't a weak leader for feeling this way. Fear was a weapon. They could be afraid _together_. That's how they tackled most of their problems.

Bellamy said of all of that without speaking. He said it all in a caress of his thumb against her knuckles.

"This is our fault," she murmured. They had brought ALIE to the rig. Had condemned all these peaceful people. They left a trail of blood wherever they traveled.

"What isn't?" Bellamy said, only half joking.

Clarke breathed out, and she unclenched her fists at last, giving in to the futility. Wasn't it true? They hurt so many people. Separately, they were hurricanes wreaking havoc on the world. Together, they were wildfire.

"Why are we so…toxic?" she whispered, resting her head against his chest, defeated and terrified.

His hands rose to her arms to pull her away gently. So he could gaze at his own reflection and seek affirmation.

"It's a toxic world, Clarke."


	12. Mistake

"Tighter," Clarke said, and Bellamy glared at her. "Bellamy, it has to look believable. "

Grudgingly, he fastened the bindings to her wrists, loose enough to be cut by Roan, but still snug.

He hated all of this. Sending her out there with the same man that had dragged her across the forest as his prisoner. Leaving her again. He felt like they were repeating past mistakes, and he was scared Clarke was walking straight into crossfire.

"Bellamy," she said softly, and he looked up from her hands. Her hair was soft again, but her eyes were still hard, carrying miles of pain. It was the burden of leading their people. "I'm going to be fine."

"I just," he paused, glancing back at Roan, who apparently had nothing better to do than to eavesdrop on their conversation. "Every time we separate, shit goes down, Clarke. What if he's leading us into a trap? What if...what if I lose you again?"

Shit. That came out wrong.

But maybe she needed to hear it anyway. She needed to know he couldn't lose her either.

He was so sick of saying goodbye. He was so tired of watching her go somewhere he couldn't follow.

Clarke tilted her head at him, pressing her lips together the way she did, swallowing back emotion.

"You won't," she promised. Her blue eyes swallowed his heart.

And somehow, he believed her.

"Any day now," Roan muttered, and Bellamy scowled.

Pained, he glanced back at Clarke, and she nodded. He breathed out, closing his eyes, and he strode behind her to tie the gag in her mouth.

"Is that okay?" he asked, finishing the knot.

She nodded again, and he felt sick. He was letting her go. Letting her slip through his fingers again.

 


	13. This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written before season 3! But I liked it too much to throw it out.

"There you are."

Bellamy didn't need to turn his head to see who had followed him from Polis into the trees. Even without her voice, he would have known.

Clarke sat down beside him, quiet, waiting for him to confide in her. This time though, Bellamy couldn't muster up the will to speak. He was lost all over again.

"You know she's going to come back, don't you?" Clarke began.

Bellamy shook his head. "Before all this happened, she was planning on leaving anyway. Now she has nothing to return to."

" _You_ aren't nothing, Bellamy," Clarke said sternly. "She still loves you. This isn't about you, or what you've done. She just needs to find herself," she swallowed. "Trust me, I _know_."

He finally tore his gaze from the view of the Grounder capitol to his best friend. A single tear slid along the contours of his face.

Clarke blinked at him slowly, compassionately, and seized his hand, clutching it between two of her own.

Six months until all but four percent of earth was inhabitable. Six months to figure out a plan, to unite the human race. Bellamy wasn't sure they could pull it off this time.

"We're going to make it through this," she told him, smiling sadly.

Bellamy noticed she'd been saying 'we' a lot more recently, and each time rekindled the hope that she wouldn't leave him again. Then again, he could never be sure with Clarke. She was a lot like Octavia—independent, free-spirited, stubborn. He felt like he had to keep some kind of contact with her at all times or she'd dissolve into the air.

"You never told me what happened in the City of Light," he said.

Clarke withdrew her hands, sitting back, her face growing serious again.

"You don't have to tell me."

"No," she said, "no I want to, Bellamy." She took a deep breath, and he watched her shrink in on herself. "When the flame started to reject me, I became weak. I was dying. But..." her eyes flickered to his nervously, "Lexa saved me."

"Lexa."

Clarke nodded. "I think...I think it was just my imagination, that I pulled her up out of my subconscious. So I guess I was really just helping myself. It felt real. Real enough that I almost didn't want to leave."

Bellamy's throat swelled. He'd been worried about that. Clarke choosing to stay where everything was easy. Again. But he also knew she was strong enough not to.

"We fought off the others, and Jasper. And then Raven got me to the kill switch and I had to make that decision. Alone, this time."

"You did the right thing."

"Did I? I took away peace from so many people, and I thrust them back into a world where they'll only have six months to live anyway."

"Clarke," Bellamy said softly. "It wasn't real. It wasn't worth the cost of everyone being tortured into taking the chip, then submitting to ALIE's every request. Just look at how tortured Kane and Abby are right now."

"They wouldn't be in that much pain if they'd never woken up."

Bellamy stared, searching her eyes. "Are you _guilty_ about what you did? Or...do you _regret_ it? There's a difference, Clarke."

In other words, did she regret coming home? Did she regret choosing him over Lexa and a world without difficult decisions?

Clarke's eyes swam. "I regret a lot of things, Bellamy."

His heart stalled, and he looked down.

"But no," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't regret pulling that lever, and I don't regret…this."

"This."

"Yeah," she said, glancing at him, smiling a little, as if she were embarrassed. "This."

Bellamy didn't know what the hell _this_ was, but he decided he didn't care. He liked the implications.


	14. Risk

They were on Luna's rig. There were unfamiliar sounds and people, machinery and smells.

But Clarke had trained herself to sleep hard under any conditions. To only register threats or the sound of an enemy approaching.

And apparently, any movement of Bellamy Fucking Blake.

She didn't know why she was so paranoid. Especially here, where things were so seemingly peaceful.

Yet every rustle, every shifting shoulder, every shortened breath slapped her back to reality, and it jolted her heart.

She was terrified she'd wake up, and he'd be gone. Torn from her life like all the others.

She wouldn't be able to handle that.

She figured she would just have to have some kind of body contact to assure her subconscious that he wasn't going anywhere. And Bellamy…well, he'd just have to deal with it.

They were already sleeping next to one another on the floor of the common room, Octavia on Bellamy's other side.

It made the process of scooting her back against his an easy feat.

The spot of contact was warm and reassuring, and she was finally able to close her eyes and drift away.

*****

That is, until, Bellamy tensed, sitting bolt upright.

He took notice of Clarke lying there beside him, rubbing her eyes, and swore quietly.

"Sorry."

He didn't ask why she was hijacking his blanket. She appreciated the sentiment.

"You've been kind of restless tonight. Are you okay?" she whispered.

"Reoccurring nightmare."

She nodded. She understood that plenty.

She patted the blanket, and he chuckled softly and rested his head beside hers. She didn't move away, so their shoulders brushed. So some kind of contact remained to keep her steady.

"Tell me about it?" she offered. They usually didn't pry, respected one another's fears and insecurities, though they recognized them easily. But she was curious what was eating at him. Curious if she could help.

Bellamy didn't say anything, so she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth that radiated from his body.

"Mount Weather."

His whisper sent shivers down her spine.

"Bellamy…" she sighed.

"Not that part," he cut her off, reading her mind. "Before you got there. When they took me."

"You never told me what they did to you," she murmured, heart beating painfully. _What I did to you._

She'd sent him in there so blindly, trusting Lexa over her own judgement. Again.

"You don't want to know," he answered, and it ripped her chest open.

"What did I put you through? Tell me."

He smirked. "You didn't do anything. I volunteered."

"Bellamy."

She poured enough emotion into his name, enough guilt and heartache that he finally looked at her with those dark brown eyes.

"Talk to me," she pleaded.

So he did.

He told her about the chemicals that burned his skin raw. The chains and the needles. How he was forced into a cage, then hung upside down to be drained of blood. He told her of Echo and Lovejoy, of Maya and Vincent and the others willing to help him.

When he finished, Clarke had tears in her eyes.

"Shit, Clarke. Don't cry."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"After you left, I thought that the last thing I said to you would be _, 'it's worth the risk'_. Then when I heard your voice over that radio, I'd never been so happy…" she trailed off, closing her eyes.

He nudged her. "But you were right. One life was worth sacrificing to get all our friends out alive." The tears trickled out and over her cheeks, and he sighed. "We always have to make the hard decisions, Clarke. That's what we do. But that wasn't your choice. It was _ours_. Okay?"

She hesitated. "Okay."

He smiled.

"But Bellamy?"

She gazed at him, waiting for his eyes to greet hers.

 _"Nothing_ is worth that risk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still want this.


	15. I know

Roan jerked her roughly to a standing position, and Clarke's knees shook, ready to give out.

Her eyes were pinned to Bellamy's still form, his ragged breathing.

Roan pulled her again, but she didn't budge. The glower she received shocked her into speech.

"Can I…say goodbye?"

The words were weak. She already agreed to leave willingly. She wouldn't be surprised if he killed Bellamy here and now. But she had to ask. She needed to touch him to prove he was real. That she wasn't conjuring up illusions.

Roan pressed his lips together and released her with an inaudible sigh.

She collapsed next to Bellamy, her free hands hovering over his chest, like she didn't know where to address his pain first. "You came for me," she got out, soft, touched, devastated to leave him all over again. After everything she'd done to him, after she'd ran away.

Bellamy winced. Blood was gushing from his wound. He would need immediate medical help—her mother's preferably. She hoped the others were near. She hoped they would stop him from trying to pursue her like this.

"And I'll come for you again," he managed, leaning into her hands that had found his face. "I'm going to bring you home, Clarke."

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry again.

She leaned over and pressed her forehead to his.

"I know."

He closed his eyes, lashes brushing hers. He'd come all this way to save her. In Grounder apparel.

Idiot.

Her thumb brushed away the blood and sweat on his cheek, and she smiled.

"Alright," Roan said gruffly, yanking her back to her feet. Clarke offered her hands up to be tied again, and as she did so, she glanced back at Bellamy. He was biting his lower lip, his eyes still shut.

A tear trickled over his temple into the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are dramatic af, don't look at me like that.


	16. Weakness

Clarke stared at Ontari's blood spilling over the floor, hot and black and wasted.

Their last chance. Their _only_ chance.

Bellamy's hand grazed her arm, and she drew her gaze away from the futility.

"What happened?" he asked throatily. His eyes were rooted to the bloody streaks on her chest, stern with anger. Her hand ghosted over the wounds mindlessly.

She glanced over at her mother. Murphy sat her down gently on the steps, displaying a kind of tenderness Clarke had never seen. Abby's head lolled, and the sight of her mother unconscious, unidentifiable, was another dull blade in the chest.

_What happened?_

Threats. Pain. Torture. Helplessness.

It was too fresh, she couldn't share the details with Bellamy. She didn't even have to. He knew, just by looking at her, he _knew_.

"Hey," he said, pulling her back. "This isn't the first time Plan A's failed. We'll come up with something else. It's not over. There's always a contingency plan."

She gave him a watery, pathetic smile. Of course Bellamy would try to salvage hope in her. He was always reminding her she wasn't alone. He was her sun; a promise of a new day and a lighter future.

And she'd almost lost him.

"They were going to bring you up here," she whispered darkly, gaze falling again to the blood. She shuddered at the memory.

_Start with Bellamy Blake._

Her mother's warped voice—the confidence that Clarke would bend. Would Clarke have really held out if Bellamy had been the one in the noose? Her mother had been different—she'd been replaced by an emotionless creature. It was easier to turn away. But Bellamy didn't have the chip. He could feel pain. He could look at her like he did and cut her open.

The images came without permission. Bellamy writhing, begging for Clarke not to give in. Hands fumbling for the rope around his neck. Furious kicking rendered to limp swaying.

"Clarke," Bellamy said, more sternly this time. His hands took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "It didn't happen. Stop thinking about scenarios that didn't happen."

She swallowed, blinking away. Why was his gaze so hard to hold these days? Before, she could look him right in the eyes and call him out on his shit, or tell him something sincere, something meaningful, without fumbling on her words. Now…she _felt_ something when she looked at him. A mixture of concern and affection and…

"I think it would have broken me," she admitted.

Bellamy's eyes flickered between hers, searching. She wanted to draw him in that moment. His slightly baffled, slightly sorrowful expression. The fullness in his gaze.

"We'll never find out," he assured her. The words resembled their promise from the beginning, a ludicrous, impossible promise.

….Love.

That's what it was, she realized, what she felt inside. It's why the thought of watching the light leave his eyes sent physical pain through her heart.

She loved Bellamy. Bellamy, above all, was her weakness.

"Right," she said at last, overwhelmed, and Bellamy lifted her to a standing position.

He gestured to her mother. "Go, we'll hold the fort."

His hands slipped away, and she opened her mouth in protest, freezing up.

What did she say? Did she say anything at all? Was she sure? Did she know so soon after Lexa? Hadn't she known since that day he came sauntering back into camp with Octavia and Mel?

Bellamy glanced back at her, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Relax, Princess. I'll be right back."

She watched him leave, gun in hand, hair wild and loose.

Bellamy Blake was her weakness. He held a piece of her heart.

And in some ways, he always had.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	17. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: sexual assault/physical abuse. Nothing too graphic, but you've been warned.

 

Bellamy passed Clarke on his way to the second floor of the dropship, but something about her face made him pause, blink once, and retrace his steps.

She'd turned off the video feed with the Ark, and she was organizing what medical supplies they still had. Finn's blood stained her fingers.

But that wasn't the issue.

Her cheekbone was busted open, a soft bruise around her eye. He thought he could see a few more marks on her neck, hidden by her hair.

"What happened to you?" he said tonelessly. She definitely hadn't looked like that yesterday.

She frowned at him, biting her lip. She seemed to realize she wouldn't be able to lie to him, so she settled with, "It was an accident."

He stepped forward, and she took two steps back.

"Whose accident?" he pressed, anger rippling in his voice. Clarke may have been an irritant, but she was vital to their survival. An attack on her was an attack on camp.

And maybe he'd grown to depend on her leadership. Just a little.

She shook her head dismissively. "There are more important things to worry about right now—"

"Clarke." He reached for her wrist, and she flinched violently, clasping her hand to her chest.

The blatant terror on her face dumbfounded him.

He'd never seen Clarke that afraid of anything. Least of all human contact. Least of all, him.

"I'm fine…I've got to go…"

He stared after her as she walked away.

*****

Clarke lay awake, gripping her knife tightly in her hand.

If he tried to come for her tonight, she'd be ready. She wouldn't be taken off guard. She wouldn't be weak and helpless.

She'd put up a fight.

Yet, the sound of twigs snapping just outside her tent sent her heart thrashing around her chest in fear. Someone was approaching.

_He'd come back._

She could still feel his cold hands around her neck, dirty nails digging into her skin, yanking on her underwear.

She could smell his gamy breath on her jaw as he pressed her face down into the earth.

She heard another crunch of mulch, and then a shadow barged into her tent. She flew at him, aiming for his throat, delivering no mercy.

A large fist caught her mid-strike, and another restrained her free hand. His shoulders were a lot broader than she remembered.

"What the hell, Clarke?" Bellamy hissed, pushing her struggling form back onto her furs.

She fell heavily, her chest heaving in relief.

Bellamy stared down at her in alarm and something else she couldn't pinpoint.

"What's going on?" he demanded, crossing his arms.

Why did Bellamy have to be the observant one? Couldn't Monty or Jasper have replaced this unemotional ball of human failure?

And yet, that was the hard truth.

_Bellamy_ of all people had noticed. And Bellamy had cared enough to follow up.

She finally worked up the courage to speak.

"I thought it was him again," she managed, hating the waver in her voice.

"Who?"

"I don't know. I never saw his face…" Her eyes rose to his, and the malice in his gaze set her off balance. He was always so angry.

"What did he do to you?" There was caution in that question, almost a plea.

Clarke huffed, looking away. This was humiliating.

"Clarke," he pressed. "If it's serious, I need to know."

She said nothing, but her insides coiled in pain and embarrassment.

Clarke Griffin. Forced to submit to harassment. Treated like property. Helpless.

"Okay..." she conceded.

As if sensing it was something heavy, Bellamy sat down next to her, his side brushing hers. She forced herself not to flinch again. It was just Bellamy. Bellamy wasn't going to hurt her. It wasn't in his best interest.

(She didn't really think it was in his interest at all.)

"He jumped me, in the middle of the night," she began shakily. "He pinned me down…he was too strong…he told me if I screamed, he'd kill me…"

She could make out the veins in his arms as his muscles tensed. "Clarke, did he…"

"No," she assured him. He'd come close, though. "I screamed anyway, and he got a few hits in before making a break for it. He said he'd be back."

Bellamy's open mouth thinned into a line. "Why didn't you say anything? We've got a rapist around camp, and you thought you'd keep it to yourself? My _sister's_ out there!"

Clarke scowled. "He's not after anyone else," she said. "It's about stripping me of power. He wanted to break me." And he'd nearly succeeded. "If I told the camp what happened, they'd see me as a weak leader that can be taken advantage of, without any consequences. I have to find him first, and then set an example."

Bellamy kept shaking his head, but she could care less if he disagreed.

"Besides. Half of the kids out there are rapists. That's nothing new."

Bellamy snapped at that one. "We might be criminals, Princess. Thieves and murderers. But none of us were sent down here for sexual assault." He gave her that disgusted expression she'd grown accustomed to. "Nice to know how lowly you think of your _subjects_ …"

Okay.

So maybe she'd gone a bit overboard. But still. She wasn't bending. "I'm not letting this out. And neither are you."

Those brown eyes burned in the shadows of the campfire. At one time he would have challenged that order, but something had changed between them. She wasn't sure when it happened exactly, but he'd grown to respect her choices, and she'd learned to appreciate his command. They'd become a team.

"So then, what? You're just going to wait for him to attack you again?"

"If I can get a mark on him, I can figure out who he is," she reasoned.

Bellamy's nostrils flared. "That's a stupid plan."

And she'd actually thought he was being considerate there for a moment.

"Well you know what happened now," she said, irritated. "So you can leave."

He studied her face, reading the unwritten.

"No."

"No?" Clarke responded incredulously.

"No. I'm staying right here."

"Like hell."

"Clarke. I need to find this guy before he hurts anyone else. I'm not just going to sit idly."

She narrowed her eyes. This was exactly what she'd hoped to avoid. Becoming a victim in need of protection. Her authority taking a nosedive because she wasn't capable of defending herself. It only took one slip-up and she'd become Bellamy's _responsibility_.

"I'll tell you when I find out. I can handle it."

"Like you handled it last night?" Bellamy said curtly. "It could have gone a lot worse than that, and you know it. It's not up for debate. I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

She stared at him, trying to decipher his words. Were they laced with concern? Or selfishness?

Sincerity? Or Manipulation?

She didn't have the energy to find out. But something about the way he'd phrased that last part had thawed the fear inside her. She wasn't alone tonight. She wasn't _alone._

She could close her eyes without the fear of waking to a man hovering over her figure, fingers clasped tightly around her throat.

So before she said something stupid like, _thank you_ , she crawled over to the farthest corner of her pad and curled up for sleep.

She listened attentively as Bellamy murmured something under his breath and made himself comfortable a few feet from her, shifting around, stealing some of her blankets. She could feel the waves of heat coming off of him, but for some reason, that male presence didn't sicken her like she thought it might. Bellamy being there didn't frighten her.

He didn't smell like wild rabbit meat and sweat.

Instead, he smelled of aspen and wood smoke. A bit of soil.

"You better not fucking snore," she whispered against the silence.

"Ditto," he rasped, but she could hear the smile on his lips.

*****

"Is there a reason Bellamy has been looking at you like you're going to spontaneously burst into flames?" Finn asked, as Clarke finished treating his wounds.

She was glad she wasn't the only one who noticed. Bellamy had been giving her odd looks all morning, keeping his eyes on her at all times. As if her assailant would risk tackling her to the ground in the middle of the day.

"He's just extra cautious with the Grounder prisoner and everything."

Finn didn't believe her.

She gave him a small smile and wandered off before Raven saw them together and accused her of something she didn't do.

Bellamy was the first to approach her, and she rolled her eyes.

"People are starting to think you've got the hots for me with all the ogling," she drawled, and he scowled at her.

"Funny," he said, unamused. "I've been watching the _camp_ to see if anyone's been paying you any special attention…"

"You mean besides yourself."

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow. "Are you accusing _me_ of assaulting you?"

Clarke felt herself smile. "I don't know, Bellamy. How can I be sure you're not abusing my trust just to get me alone again?"

He knew she was teasing him, and that mischievous gleam in his eye made some of her anxiety disappear.

He looked out over camp, his lip twitching. "Come on, Clarke. We both know I don't have to _force_ any woman into sex."

_Oh my God._

Groaning, she smacked his arm and stormed off, mainly so he wouldn't hear her laugh.

*****

Finally.

Bellamy had gone out hunting after she'd convinced him she'd be safe for the next couple of hours. That Jasper and Monty were here if anything went wrong. That she would tell Octavia if anyone was acting suspicious.

He'd given her that sharp look. The one that she'd only ever seen him give his sister.

He was worried about her.

Since when had Clarke become someone Bellamy had to worry about?

She was the camp doctor, she reminded herself. Bellamy relied on her medical expertise. And her standing with the Ark.

That was _all_.

She was tallying the number of herbs she had left in the dropship when someone came bursting through the entrance.

"Clarke!" the boy yelled, red-faced and distressed. His name was Sam. He was only sixteen, and he had a young face.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Miller. He's hurt bad." Sam jerked his head toward the forest. "Bellamy asked me to come get you."

Clarke inhaled shakily and snatched the last bit of seaweed off the shelf, hurrying after him.

*****

"Sam?" she called, panting.

Her legs just didn't move that fast.

"Right over here!" he cried from the haze of the forest. The sun was setting, and the woods adopted that silver-blue sheen.

She trudged though some overgrowth towards his voice, but there was no one in sight.

No Sam.

No Miller.

No Bellamy.

Not even the sound of evening birds.

It dawned on Clarke too late, just as something hard collided with the back of her head.

She crumpled, eyes wide in panic. She could feel the blood already seeping into her hair, down her temple.

Her eyes flickered above her to the boy she'd considered synonymous to Charlotte. Sweet. Young. Unsuspecting.

But equally as murderous.

Sam twirled his axe around, smiling at her with a foreign hunger.

She moved to get away, but one kick to her ribs sent her rolling back through the pine needles.

_Shit._

She was a fucking idiot.

She always acted so impulsively, especially when someone's life was at stake. Her mother had said that her instincts to take care of the others would help them all survive on the Ground, but so far they'd delivered her straight to hell's threshold.

"Sam, stop…" she mumbled, blinking away the dots in her vision. "You don't want this."

Sam clicked his tongue and crouched beside her. His fingers brushed a piece of bloody hair from her eyes. "There you go again. Giving orders…"

His hand clamped around a chunk of hair and slammed her face into the ground.

Pain burst through her temple, down her face.

Clarke already knew she had a concussion. Any more contusions to the head and she could wind up with serious brain damage.

But that was of little importance.

Right now, her first priority was escape.

She tried clambering to her feet, but her arms shook and she collapsed again. She dragged herself to the other side of the tree, desperate to get away.

Sam just watched her, smiling like a plastic doll.

"I saw Bellamy come out of your tent this morning," he said, following her as she pulled her body along the forest floor. "Now I know why he lets you bark orders. When you're putting out for him every night, it's not like he can say no to his _bitch…"_

Clarke groaned, her fingers digging into the earth.

This could not seriously be happening.

How pathetic.

One hit to the head and she was _incapacitated._

She hissed into the soil.

"What was that, Princess?" he kicked her over, onto her back.

"Fuck you," she spat, dizzy and sick.

He smiled even wider, and he dropped the axe beside him, kneeling over her body, just like before.

Her heart began pumping wildly, and she opened her mouth to scream—even if the volume killed the rest of her brain cells. But then Sam's right hand closed around her neck, squeezing tight. With the other, he began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Don't…" she choked, trying to pry his hands off.

"I didn't hear a _please…"_ he admonished, ripping her shirt open. "I want to hear you beg, Princess."

Clarke choked again, and she felt tears sting her eyes.

"Please..." she muttered helplessly, her vision going dark again. The cold hands prodding again. Digging into her flesh and moving south.

Then the weight on top of her disappeared. A few desperate yelps proceeded, accompanied by aggressive punching sounds.

Then it was still.

Clarke exhaled, trying not to hyperventilate.

A warm hand found her face, and she flinched, snapping her eyes open.

Tousles of dark hair fell into furious brown eyes.

"Bell…my?" she struggled, feeling her adrenaline begin to fade.

He helped her into a sitting position, and she latched onto his arm to steady herself.

Silently, Bellamy slid the strap of her bra back into place and re-did a few of her buttons. She watched him and forced herself not to cry.

"Are you okay?" he said, meeting her eyes.

She shrugged because no, obviously not. "I'll manage….is Sam okay?"

Bellamy's gaze flickered to the unconscious and bloody boy beside them.

"...He'll manage."

Clarke smiled, and she bent her pounding head to rest against Bellamy's shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered. Earnest.

He'd come to her rescue. She'd refused his help. Ignored his warnings. Pushed him away. And he'd still come for her.

"You must be worse than I thought if you're thanking me," he said, and she chuckled, clutching his jacket tightly.

*****

Clarke bit her lip. She had no real reason to be here right now.

Besides.

Bellamy could have a girl over.

She didn't want to spoil that. Not after everything he'd done for her.

Yes. She should turn back and talk to him tomorrow. Solid plan.

"Clarke, I can see your shadow. What do you want?" he said from within his tent, and she cursed, glancing up at the moon, resigned. She sighed and stepped inside.

He was sitting back against the wall of his tent, cleaning his gun.

He gave her a curious look. But it wasn't malicious.

"Hey," she said lamely.

"Should you be out of bed?" he replied. "You could hardly walk earlier."

"I'm heavily medicated," she reasoned.

"All the more reason you shouldn't be wandering about camp."

She rolled her eyes.

Was this going to be a thing, now? Bellamy acting like her mother? He was annoying enough already.

"I just…wanted to thank you again, for finding me and saving me…" she said, sobering.

Bellamy placed his gun to the side. "You wouldn't have needed saving if I'd just been there with you, like I should have."

She smiled gently. "You can't always be there."

"I can try."

They shared a look, half-baffled, half-embarrassed. A little bit tender.

"Besides…" Bellamy cleared his throat. "I think we scared off any others from following Sam's footsteps."

Clarke managed a laugh, though it hurt her side. "You didn't have to cut it off."

Bellamy grinned. "I thought it was a fitting punishment."

Well. The castration sure as hell traumatized the rest of camp. Clarke thought it was hilarious. A little crude. A little harsh. But just.

Much like Bellamy.

When her smile faded, he narrowed his eyes. " _And_ we tied him up alongside the Grounder. He's not going to be able to hurt you again."

She nodded. She knew that.

But she was still frightened. She didn't want to close her eyes. Locked away in real life was one thing. But Sam was free to roam her mind the minute she let her guard down.

Bellamy studied her for a moment, and then he looked down at the furs beside him, frowning.

"Regardless…I think I need to keep tabs on you one more night. Just in case."

Her gaze flew to his, incredulous and hopeful.

He'd read her mind, her needs, her intentions. And because she was too proud to ask him, he'd fashioned it to sound like an order.

He just kept coming to her rescue, didn't he?

"Are you…"

"Just sit down, Clarke."

She sighed, relieved, and she crawled up into the space next to him. Bellamy threw the furs over her carelessly, and she would have laughed if she weren't so exhausted.

Bellamy blew out the remaining lights, and she shut her eyes to the darkness.

"Goodnight, Clarke."

She smiled into the blankets, feeling safe for the first time since she touched the Ground.

"Goodnight, Bellamy."


	18. Aftermath

Bellamy watched Octavia disappear, realizing that murdering Pike was her way of severing her ties with the Ark, with the 100.

She wasn't coming home with him.

She might not leave for good, but her place was no longer beside him and Clarke. That much was clear.

Clarke's hand squeezed his forearm, and he tore his gaze away from the corridor, from the person his life revolved around for as long as he could remember.

Those blue eyes cradled his gaze, and Bellamy's chest deflated at the sting of her words.

_Because we didn't. Not yet._

"You were saying?" he whispered, trying his best to ignore the bruise Octavia had left on his heart.

Clarke's eyes flickered over the others in the room, lingering on her mother and Kane. Everyone was hugging, crying, recovering from disbelief and battle wounds. Even Murphy had found someone worth giving a damn.

"Come on," she said, and she pulled him toward the hall.

Bellamy followed, but each step felt heavier with the weight of what Clarke would tell him.

They hadn't saved their people.

There was another enemy to fight.

And by the foreboding look in her eyes, it wasn't going to be easy.

She led him down the hall into one of the bedroom chambers, bathed in soft light from the window. The place had gone untouched in the midst of such chaos and bloodshed. Something about the cleanliness of it all gave him Mt. Weather vibes.

Clarke gestured for him to sit at the edge of the bed and disappeared into another area of the suite.

Bellamy tried not to think about whether or not this was the room Clarke had resided in while she was here in Polis. If she had missed her friends and the old, crappy tents made out of parachute scraps. If she'd ever thought of him, or if her mind had been consumed by Grounder culture...and Lexa.

Clarke returned with a wet rag, her face clean from the nightblood. She sat beside him, bumping his knee with hers as she turned to face him.

Silently, she pressed the cloth to his temple and began to gently clean the blood off his face.

"Clarke…" he muttered, because this anxiety was killing him and she had gone full on Abby Mode.

She bit her lip, swabbing at his cheek.

"It's bad."

"I gathered," he replied dryly. She prodded at a cut on his lip, and he winced.

She apologized, lessening the pressure, but he gripped her wrist to stop her from procrastinating.

"Start from the beginning," he said, and after studying his face, she looked down, dropping the bloody rag in her lap.

"Soon after I got in, ALIE found me," she began shakily. "They came after me…and I...I was _dying."_

Bellamy waited patiently. His hand found hers, soft and cold beneath his calloused fingers.

"Lexa rescued me. Or…my subconscious did. I'm not really sure," she said, refusing to meet his eyes. "Raven got me to another lever, but ALIE was there…"

"What did she say?"

Finally, she glanced up at him, and he hadn't seen her look so haunted since the day she left Arkadia. "Bellamy, the nuclear reactors are melting down. ALIE saw no chance of survival, so she built the City of Light. And I had to decide if I should destroy it...or if I should bring everyone back to this nightmare."

She breathed out heavily, stroking his wrist absentmindedly.

Bellamy stared at her, then at the pale drapes fluttering against the open window, his thoughts spiraling.

They'd already survived the apocalypse. A prison in the sky. A radiation-soaked planet. Mad scientists on the hunt for blood, literally. Not to mention a mind-controlling computer software.

Was that not enough? Had it even been worth it, coming down to the ground where they were forced to sacrifice so much?

And why the hell did the difficult decisions always have to fall upon their shoulders?

Especially Clarke, whose light had been drained to a dull flicker...

He swallowed, trying to gather his senses, to be the rock she needed. "How long do we have?"

Clarke hesitated, then sighed resignedly.

"Six months before the radiation kills us."

He closed his eyes, and he felt her bloody fingers tighten around his, begging for hope.

Six months to fight the odds. Six months to find a solution to a problem even an AI couldn't compute.

"It could be worse," he decided, just to see that little half-smile grace her face.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she nodded, holding onto him for dear life.

"It could be worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them, I love them, I love them.


	19. Goodbyes

Clarke was _not_ happy.

She crossed her arms and glared at the fringe of forest, then back at Bellamy.

"We need more food, Clarke," he complained. "Game is already sparse, and we need to be able to feed 100 people for five years. If we don't have food, we can forget about patching up the Ark."

Clarke knew he was right, that his logic was sound, but why did _he_ have to go? There were plenty of capable people.

_Expendable_ people.

She needed someone to confide in while Raven and Abby were gone. She needed someone who could inspire others to work hard for little, to share the burden of leadership. She needed her partner here, to catch her when she went flying over the edge.

Besides.

What if the radiation was already here? What if a storm appeared while he was out there, without any cover?

What if she lost him?

She should have mentally prepared herself for that end already, but she just couldn't. Her mind couldn't fathom a world without Bellamy in it.

And that scared her to death.

Bellamy's face softened as he read her expression.

"Hey." He dipped his head at her, trying to get her to look at him. "I'll be fine."

She surrendered to his gaze. His dark eyes were so tired, but also tender, and full of hope, and maybe something more.

She remembered when he used to look at her like an inconvenience, an obstacle in his way. When she called him out for being an ass and a coward.

Now that all felt so distant. They'd come far in their relationship.

The menace in his eyes had transformed to something much different, but just as potent.

She bit her cheek and looked away from that scathing warmth.

"Just…be careful. Don't die," she ordered, deflating.

He smirked.

"You too," he said, brushing the inside of her wrist. "Stay put."

In other words, don't go running after him if something should happen. Don't go chasing death.

Don't leave him again.

She nodded, and she felt her chest grow cold and hollow with the finality of his absence.

Were their goodbyes always going to be like this? Hesitant and painful? Even for a something as mundane as a hunting trip?

She managed the courage to look at him again, but he appeared a lot less confident now, almost like he was contemplating his own return, or the things left unsaid between them.

She mustered the strength to smile and wrapped her arms around his neck for a hug.

Bellamy's arms enveloped her, warm and strong. He kissed the crown of her head, and she wanted so badly to stay there, in his embrace, and soak up his heat and his love and his gravity.

But she had to trust in him to stay alive.

More importantly, she had to get used to watching him walk away, without knowing if he'd return. If that was it.

That was the world they lived in now.

You couldn't grow attached, and if you did, you had to be strong enough to cut the ties.

She peeled away from him, forcing her eyes not to water. They did anyway.

"I'll be back soon," he said softly, shyly. After she granted him that smile he was waiting for, he turned away, marching for the rover.

Her immediate thought was that she should have kissed him.

It startled her, but really, it wasn't very surprising.

There was no one else like Bellamy.

And without Bellamy, there was _no one else_.

Still, it was too soon. Too soon to give him her heart when it was mending. When the world was ending and either of them could die at any moment from a stray bullet. Or radiation.

She would wait for the end of the fight. For a day they could finally live on earth and stop making the hard decisions for their people.

When she could fall asleep with him beside her, and not give a damn about what happens next.

It was a future she could see, and one she wanted. A future she thought he might want as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The goodbye we never got.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is probably way too idealistic and sappy but Bellamy really needed Clarke this episode, so here you go.

Clarke watched the exchange between Kane and Abby, the way the creases in her mother's face softened at the sound of his voice.

She hadn't noticed the transformation between the two of them, the growing trust, the evolving relationship. Not until Polis.

Then it was clear:

Her mother had moved on.

She'd fallen in love again, with someone here, someone real. Someone just as damaged and scarred, but someone who loved her with all his heart.

Clarke was happy for her mom. She deserved that love.

And Clarke thought, deep down, that maybe she deserved it too.

She made her way over to her mother as the conversation drew to a close, reaching out for the walkie politely.

Her mother nodded, placing the device in her hands and heading down the stairs.

"It's Clarke," she said. "How are things?"

Kane chuckled. "They could be better. But…we're alive."

Clarke bit her lip. Fuck. Just say it. "Is Bellamy there?"

"Of course, just…" there was an exchange on the other end, muddled by static, and then a drawn-out silence. Kane sighed. "He's a bit preoccupied at the moment."

Clarke frowned, trying not to read into it.

"He's okay though?" she said, recalling what she'd heard about the acid rain, her mother's wide eyes.

Kane took a moment to reply. "He's…yes, he's fine. But…Clarke…I'm worried about him."

"Why?"

"He's trying to save everyone, and when he can't, he blames himself…"

Clarke rolled her eyes. "He's always been that way, Kane…self-sacrificing."

"No," the Chancellor whispered, and her smile disappeared. "He's lost Octavia. She left camp. He tried to save some men, and he failed. Now he's shut down. It's like he thinks he has no purpose."

Clarke inhaled deeply, angry, but unsurprised. Of course Bellamy would try to go out in the rain and save the hundred. Especially if he couldn't do anything for his sister. Because if he wasn't a brother, he was a leader. And if he no longer thought he was capable of leading…

Kane cleared his throat. "I'm just worried he's going to beat himself up for this by putting his life on the line, over and over again until there's nothing left of him to give."

Dammit.

She should be there for him. She was the only one who could talk him down from his self-destructive mode. To tell him his life had meaning, and for him to actually believe it.

"Just…tell him I'll be up for a while, if he wants to talk," she said, refraining from commands, from orders that Bellamy would ignore. If he was working himself to death, he probably didn't want to hear her reason. Not when he knew it would change his mind.

*****

Bellamy had just finished allocating supplies with Monty, refusing to rest until everyone had something to drink.

He glanced at the desk, at the radio, trying to fight the impulse.

But he couldn't help it.

He collapsed in the chair and gripped the walkie tight in his hand.

"Clarke?" he said, hating the way his voice rippled with desperation.

He waited a few minutes for a reply.

She'd probably gone to sleep hours ago, he thought bitterly. He'd been too stubborn to talk to her. He didn't deserve the things she would say.

"Bellamy?"

Her voice brought life to his veins, and he sat back, closing his eyes. He could picture her here, with her tangled blond hair and her all-knowing eyes.

"Yeah."

She sighed from the other end. "How are you?"

He stared up at the ceiling. "Lost a few during the storm, but we survived. I don't know how much longer the water supply will hold—"

"Bellamy. I didn't ask about the Ark. How are _you_?"

He worked his jaw, because how the hell was he supposed to answer that? He wasn't okay. He was far from okay. But she didn't need to hear that. She didn't need to worry about him.

He opened his mouth and closed it, because she also knew when he was lying.

" _Bellamy_ ," Clarke whispered sadly, and he didn't know how she could still rip him open from miles away. "You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything."

"I was right there, Clarke," he said, feeling the tears burn his eyes for the third time that night. "I was so close and they were dying. They were begging me to help them, and I _couldn't_."

"But you _tried_."

He scoffed, lifting his hand to his eyes to put pressure there, to keep the tears in.

"That's what matters, isn't it? You always try to save as many people as you can. You always try to be the hero. But this time we're up against something we can't fight head-on. You have to accept that you're not going to be able to save everyone."

"I can't save _anyone_ ," he argued. Not Octavia. Not his mother. Not Gina. Not Peter and Mark. Not Charlotte. Or Finn. Or Monroe. Or Adam…

He was helpless, useless to stop any of it. Even the people he loved most still slipped through his fingers.

"You saved _me_ ," she protested, and the tremor in his chest waned. "You saved me over and over again, Bellamy. I wouldn't be here without you."

He didn't respond, because she was right. He had saved her, but he _had_ to save her. Keeping her alive stemmed from selfishness. She was all he had left in the world. She was the only reason he didn't throw himself to the rain to save Peter.

She held him back from plummeting over the edge, and he loved her and resented her for it.

"Just…please don't die," she said suddenly, and he could hear the tears, the unsteadiness in her voice. "Don't save the world by throwing yourself into the fire."

He swallowed around the knot in his throat.

"I won't if you won't."

He heard her laugh quietly. "I'm serious, Bellamy."

"So am I."

She seemed to think this over, and he wondered if maybe he'd exposed himself. His heart. If it even mattered at this point.

"I'll stay alive," she promised. "But I don't want to be the only reason you do too."

But she was, wasn't she?

No. She needed consolation, hope. So he would give that to her.

"Okay," he said, and he could hear her sniffle from the other end.

He'd live for more.

He didn't really know what that meant at the moment, but he figured if Clarke survived this apocalypse, she could show him.


	21. Relief

Clarke heard the door open, and she closed her eyes, not in the mood for reprimands.

"Mom, can it wait—"

"Clarke," he inhaled, and her eyes shot open.

He was standing there in the doorway, sporting the same old guard's uniform and a gun. Hair that fell into his eyes.

Eyes that swelled with emotion.

"Bellamy," she said, and his name tumbled softly off her lips. A sigh.

Because Bellamy was her best friend, and his presence always came with a sense of relief. Like they had finally outrun the storm and had a moment to feel the sunshine, to dry their clothes. Just before the rain returned.

Bellamy put his gun in its holster and walked toward her slowly with measured steps, as if forcing himself not to dash to her side.

Clarke stood and reached for him, feeling his arms envelope her, lift her up.

Her nails dug into his jacket, and she pressed her nose into his shoulder, breathing for the first time since they'd parted.

It was strange, how they would separate, and somehow, she'd be able to put his survival (mostly) out of mind. She'd be able to focus on the task at hand. Only when he returned to her did she consider all of the things that could have possibly gone wrong. The probability that this time, she could have lost him.

Bellamy stepped back, offering that feeble grin.

It didn't last long. He looked down at her hand, taking it in his own.

She'd wrapped the cuts haphazardly.

"What happened?" he said. "Looks like oil…"

Clarke huffed, smiling a little as he observed the bandage. "It's not oil, Bellamy. It's…nightblood."

She met his gaze, noticing the immediate change, the hardness.

"What did you do?" he said, grim.

She withdrew from him, turning towards the balcony.

"Clarke."

She sighed deeply. No use lying. Not to Bellamy.

"I injected myself with Luna's bone marrow."

She wasn't looking at him, but she could imagine the way his eyes closed, the way he shook his head angrily.

"And then?" he said, voice low and cautious.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Then I tried to take the flame."

He clenched his jaw, sending ripples up his temple.

"I didn't," Clarke amended weakly.

"But you would have," he said, stepping closer. "If no one had stopped you, you would be the commander right now, wouldn't you? If you'd survived?"

She nodded, waiting for the outcry. For the list of consequences. For the irrationality of her decision.

But he just stood beside her, shaking his head.

"Dammit, Clarke."

She gave him a watery smile, feeling the warmth pool in her chest at the concern and tender exasperation in his gaze. They'd come so far that they could understand each other's motives without asking. They could forgive each other so easily, because there was no time to hold grudges, to resent each other for dangerous choices. They needed each other, so they rolled their eyes and moved on.

Still, she wanted him to know she wasn't trying to break their promise. She wasn't throwing herself to the flames. She wouldn't leave him behind.

"I'm sorry. I know it was reckless," she said. "But I was out of options."

Bellamy nodded, because he knew all too well what that was like.

"Thirteen," he said.

"What?"

"Thirteen of the kids stayed behind. Refused to live in the bunker. Harper. Jasper…"

Clarke watched his face crumple with sadness and regret.

"It's not your fault. Jasper was never committed," she assured him.

"It still feels like I failed them."

She shook her head. "If anyone failed our people, it was me," she said, looking out over Polis, up at the stars. "Now we have to fight for the bunker we found. It's like the fighting never ends."

There was pause, a heavy silence.

"You think it ever will? End?" he asked her.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

She sure hoped so. Someday, she wanted to sit back and watch the storm recede.

"Yeah. I do. And we'll both be there to see it."

Bellamy glanced at her, that sarcastic and morbid smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I like the sound of that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in 4x09. Just needed a proper reunion after waiting a month for squat.


	22. Someday

"Who's Bellamy?"

The name sent a jolt down Clarke's spine. She glanced over at Madi, her young face curious and notably cheeky.

"You say that name every day, on the radio."

Clarke sighed, swallowing the pain. "He's my best friend."

"Then…why does he never answer?"

She bit her cheek, looking up at the sky. That was the question, wasn't it?

"I don't think he can hear me."

"Then why do you do it?"

Clarke didn't know, really. It helped her feel at home. It helped root her to the past, to gentle glances and warm embraces.

"Did you love him?"

Years apart had made it simple.

"Yes."

Madi smiled sadly. "Do you think he's still alive?"

"I have to believe that he is," she replied, then frowned at herself. "I know he is. He's a fighter."

And if he'd taken her advice, if he'd used his head, then she knew their friends would make it. He had always been a natural leader. Even when he'd lost his way.

"What's he like?" Madi pressed, moving closer to sit by Clarke, nuzzling against her side.

Clarke grinned, wrapping her arm around her. "Tall. He has this wild dark hair…." It had grown out of control, really. She remembered when they'd first touched the ground, and he'd had it gelled back, out of his eyes, like an idiot. It had only taken one rainy night for it to spring back into those precious curls. "And freckles," she added as an afterthought.

The girl looked at her, confused, the term lost in translation.

"Little spots on his cheeks, like…stars." She pointed to the sky.

Madi made a quiet sound of understanding.

"Brown eyes, soft one moment, hard the next."

Warm and bright and all-knowing.

"Strong. And brave. And patient…"

Beautiful and irreplaceable, like a piece of art.

"He's an overprotective brother, and he thinks with his heart." But that's why she loved him. He always knew just what to say to make her smile, even at the end of the world.

"Can you draw him for me?" Madi asked.

Clarke smiled. "I can try."

They sat in the back of the rover, listening as the life seeped its way back into the earth.

"He would like you," Clarke mused, squeezing Madi gently. Bellamy always had a soft spot for kids.

"He better," Madi muttered, and Clarke chuckled.

_Someday you'll meet him_ , she thought, her chest tight.

Someday she wouldn't have to remember him in fragments.

Someday, she would see those eyes again, raw and open and soft, and this time, she wouldn't look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoohoo. Finally caught up.


End file.
